


The Dressmaker and the Nymph

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: (you'll see), And back at it again with those obscure Hoshidan rarepairs too???, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-compliant if you squint, Childhood Sweethearts, Cryptidzura, F/F, Fantastic Racism, Festivals, First Kiss, GOSH its been awhile since I've written Fates huh??, Hm don't really like the phrasing of that tag but, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Uh..., YIKES sorry for starting off with a real tag, anyway, but like, the OCs are just for worldbuilding stuff and like i gave Oboro's parents names, this ship is so cute I'm so into it now, total lack of sewing knowledge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Azura hated Hoshido - with every fiber of her being, she despised its people, so willing to turn a blind eye to the suffering of their neighbors. So she flees, leaving Shirasagi behind and venturing out into the wild, hoping against hope to find a better life than the one Fate had dealt her. What she finds is not what she expects - a life of fabric, of sewing needles and thread and tapes and buttons and the quiet joy of a quaint mountain village, and the warmth of a young girl who opens her heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY Okay I made a joke about this pair, then I accidentally wrote a fic outline in five minutes and then turned it into a real fic!! This was written in like, two days so please forgive any mistakes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Azura hated Hoshido. She hated Nohr, too; there was no doubt about that. But in Nohr, there were no pretenses. Everyone hated it, everyone was suffering, and in that there was at least some comfort, some camaraderie. Everyone squirming under the weight of the same yoke.

There wasn’t any of that in Hoshido. There was no amity for the suffering. Maybe it was a cultural difference. Azura was young, and remembered so very little of her homeland, and most of her childhood was spent in Nohr. So to come to Hoshido seemed almost a boon, at first – before the curtain was pulled back and she found that she was just as lonely and scared as she had always been.

It had been a rough start – she was grabbed roughly from her bed and a bag was tugged over her head. She didn’t know who her kidnappers were, though she had her suspicions. It was retaliation for the Nohrian’s loss. Why her, though? She was an outcast even among outcasts.

After her capture came weeks of uncertainty, passing in and out of consciousness, waking in darkened rooms to be fed meager rations. She was on a boat for some time, that she knew for sure. The smell of the sea was familiar, and it reminded her of her homeland. The rocking of the boat, too, made her certain. There was some small comfort in it, and through her small porthole she could see the endless rolling waves. It was weeks before the land beneath her feet was still again and still more weeks until she was finally dumped at the foot of the upstart Hoshidan tactician who had commanded her capture.

His name was Yukimura, and he was a tough, honor-driven young man. He had short turquoise hair and wore glasses, and always seemed to be holding a book. Azura didn’t like him. She didn’t like his cold, calculated gaze, or the way he poked and prodded her, as if he were examining a racehorse.

“You’re Azura, then?” he had asked her.

She had nodded, refusing to speak. At the time, it wasn’t a willful act of rebellion. She was sore, tired, and parched. Her throat was scratched raw. Had she tried to speak, only a croak would have come out.

But as she grew older, she quickly learned that even when she can speak, it is better to keep her mouth shut.

Her teachers scold her, punishing her for her poor speaking and her terrible accent. She makes no friends – no one is willing to associate themselves with the Nohrian, with the prisoner, with the foreigner, with the _other_.

And she was so visibly foreign, with her dark skin, her gold eyes, her bright blue hair. When she was old enough to venture out of the castle, she would walk through the market where she stuck out like a sore thumb. How magnanimous of the Hoshidans to let her roam free, into back alleys where she could be ambushed or beaten simply for who she was. King Sumeragi was dead, and the little princeling was gone, and the people were looking for anywhere to place the blame.

She would open her mouth, and a Nohrian voice would come out.

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m not Nohrian.” Her protests meant nothing to angry men with heavy boots and scarred fists.

And she would slink back into the castle, climb through the narrow wooden windows and climb into her room and lay down in her hard, unfamiliar bed, and stare at the ceiling in a castle that felt so far away from home. She would wipe the blood from her nose and lips, and she would rub her eyes and she would sing softly to herself, even through her tears.

The guards, of course, turned a blind eye to this. Her capture was a political move – it was a game of chess, and she was a pawn. In herself, she was worthless as anything but a move against Nohr. As long as she was here and not there, the soldiers were satisfied.

The soldiers treated her with disdain or apathy and nothing in between, and the people of Shirasagi fell into step behind them. Some were outright cruel, using harsh words and harsher hands to make it clear exactly how they felt. Others were different – with honeyed tongues cooing over her beauty, her _exoticness_. Those with silver tongues and wandering hands. Azura wasn’t sure which was worse.

She went largely ignored by the Hoshidan royal family – The Queen and her advisors were preoccupied with running a nation at the brink of war. They spoke in hushed voices often, saying a great deal about troop movements and supply trains and border guards. The Crown Prince was preoccupied with his studies and his training. There was an older princess, too – a little past Azura’s age, but she lived in the barracks and seldom left the company of the other soldiers. She was slender and had harsh eyes and when they passed in the hall, Azura could feel her piercing, accusatory gaze. As if Azura were at fault.

There were two younger ones, too, though Azura didn’t know them or their names. An angry, bratty little boy that would shout at her, and a little girl with pink hair who said nothing at all.

Azura hated Hoshido. The thin veneer of beauty, a skin of colors and light and warmth stretched over a core just as a rotten as Nohr’s. A people who, when not inflicting cruelty, turned a blind eye to it. People who hated her for being foreign, who hated her even more for being Nohrian. For her voice, her looks, for the strange songs she sang to herself in a language they could not understand.

In Nohr, she was treated poorly, but it was her home; or, as close as she ever knew. Here, she was an outcast.


	2. Chapter 2

Azura was fourteen when she left Shirasagi. She was sitting in a garden, humming a song to herself and clasping her pendant, when she was accosted by a pair of guards. Azura had grown used to it, as she aged, but it still made her sick. And so a wandering hand was met with a knife through the palm, and Azura found herself crumpled and bleeding, clutching a twisting stomach and coughing blood into the dirt. Each breath she sucked in hurt, and her mouth and nose were filled with copper. Rather than return to the castle to lick her wounds, she chose a different route – she left. She walked and walked, and kept walking, past the guards and the merchants and the shopkeepers and out into the great unknown.

She took the broad main road out of Shirasagi. She followed its winding trails as it switch-backed down the plateau and sidled along crumbling yellow-stone footbridges, past groves of cherry trees, and finally out in to the sweeping floodplains dotted with rice paddies. Castle Shirasagi almost seemed a lighthouse, even from this distance – its high towers rising up above the castle town, reaching into the sky like some great, ominous watchtower.

Would she be pursued? Would anyone be aware of her absence? She wasn’t quite sure. She hitched up her skirt and waded through a rice paddy, stopping to kneel and scrub the blood from her face and her dress in the cold, muddy water. With the sun sinking behind the might of Shirasagi, Azura set off into the wild.

She spent her first night huddled under a stone bridge – she gathered enough wood for a small fire for warmth and sat with her back to the cool stone supports, and then exhaustion finally overtook her.

She woke the following morning in a puddle of mud. More accurately, she woke in a small creek that was flowing around her and draining water from the plateau above to the floodplains. She scrambled to her feet and slipped, falling facefirst into the water. Mud was not an invigorating breakfast.

She quickly realized that food was going to be her biggest concern. Travel was surprisingly easy. Her bare feet were already tough and calloused from walking the cobblestone streets of Shirasagi, so the transfer to soft grass and dirt roads was an easy one. If anything, the road was kinder on her feet than the city was.

Barring, of course, the occasional debris in the road. She stepped on a fragment of metal and spent the evening nursing a bleeding foot under an old watchtower. She ripped the hem of her dress and used the fabric to wrap her foot. It was then, however, that she came to her solution for food.

Azura always had a tenuous relationship with laws. Trespassing, in particular, was one she never seemed to pay attention to. If she were to be treated like a ghost, she would act like a ghost – she slipped through windows, taking food, taking medicine, taking what she needed. Leaving nothing in her wake but muddy footprints on kitchen floors.

She leaves the floodplains and the endless miles and miles of rice paddies behind her. Hoshido is a beautiful country – warm, rainy, and scenic. She treks through river valleys, through mountains, across lakes and plains. Had she been in a position to appreciate it, Azura probably would have fallen in love with the countryside, with its quaint villages and its farming communities, with the zig-zagging rivers and the rolling hills, building up until they met the foothills of the mountains far off on the horizon.

As it was, though, she hated Hoshido – though now less for its people and more for its climate. It was hot, sticky, and humid. Leaving in summer was her mistake, she realized too late. A day of hiking dissolved into an evening spent soaking in the cool mountain streams, leaving her tattered dress draped over a nearby tree as she did her best to keep herself clean. It was a futile effort, though – especially considering her white dress. The once-regal fabric quickly turned from an angelic white to a pale tan, and then to a splattered patchwork of grass stains and mud stains and blood stains and tears. She laid in a river, floating on her back, staring at the dress dangling in the trees like the spirit of some mystic youkai. The dress drifted in the wind, fluttering. A flag of surrender.

She needed clothing. Something that would let her enter towns without attracting attention. Something that could hide stains, and something tough enough to not tear when poked and prodded by tree branches and bushes. Sturdy, comfortable, breathable. It’d be expensive, but…well, Azura always had a tenuous relationship with laws. A five-finger discount would do just fine.

She came across a small village nestled in the mountains. From her height on a ridge high above it, it looked shrouded in mist – calm, inviting. Small. She quickly scanned the town and made a mental map. No guardhouses, barracks, or fort. A temple to the north, a river to the east. A small maze of clustered buildings, and somewhere within, a clothing shop. Azura descended the mountain into the town as the sun set.

As with many mountain villages, this one closed up as the day melted to night. Stars twinkled overhead, and a shadow stole between alleys, darting back and forth along buildings. What served for the main road proved little use – what shops were there were locked up tight. She took a back road and, nestled in a quiet corner of the village, she found it. A quaint two-story building built in traditional Hoshidan style. There was a sign over the door, but Azura couldn’t read it – she only recognized one of the characters, but that was enough. A tailor.

She pressed her ear against the window, listening for signs of activity. Lights were on in the second floor, and soft voices drifted out the open window. But the first floor was dark and silent. She found a narrow piece of wood to jam into the door and pried it open.

The shop was, somehow, even larger on the inside. Or so it seemed to Azura. She bounced back and forth between racks of clothing, poring over yukatas and kimonos and all sorts of things she didn’t even know the names of. Her bare feet danced over the tatami floor, leaving slight, dirty footprints in her wake. She slipped a jacket over her shoulders. It was warm, but scratchy. She put it back.

The stairs along the outside of the shop led up to the home above – the home presumably filled with laughter and warmth and hot food and Azura shook her head and chased the thoughts from her mind. She was here for one thing. She turned and knocked into a rack of dresses.

Her heart stopped. She lunged and snatched the rack, catching it before it clattered to the ground. The sound of laughter and conversation upstairs stopped. Azura tucked the rack back into its place and tiptoed forward, slipping herself into a rack of robes. She held her breath.


	3. Chapter 3

A minute passed. Then two. Then three. Then the noise upstairs resumed and Azura exhaled. They must not have heard. She hurried to finish her shopping spree, gathering up a yukata, shoes, a jacket, and a broad hat. She scrambled back towards the open front door.

“Going somewhere?” a voice startled her and she jumped, dropping her armful of pilfered clothing to the floor.

It was a girl. About her age, with dark blue hair ties into an ornate braid. She was holding a lantern forward, squinting in the dim light.

Azura’s heart stopped. She froze, staring into the girl’s violet eyes.

The girl moved to open her mouth. Azura reacted without thinking, her instincts carrying her into a diving tackle. She brought the girl down and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Shh!” Azura hissed. “Be quiet!”

The girl squirmed underneath her and said something, but her voice was muffled by Azura’s strong grip.

“Shh!” Azura tried again. “I’m not going to hurt you! I need this stuff!”

The girl didn’t stop squirming. Azura leaned heavily on her, tiring quickly. The weeks on the road, her frail frame, and her minimal diet did little for her physical prowess. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please.” And as she begged, she found herself crying. “Please, I…I just…need...something…”

The girl pushed her off easily and Azura tumbled to the floor.

“What are you doing here?” the girl hissed.

“I…need clothing…” Azura whimpered, pushing herself up. She gestured to her ratty, filthy attire. “I’m sorry.”

The girl folded her arms and pursed her lips, obviously thinking. “You’re filthy.”

Azura nodded. She let her gaze drop to her scuffed knees, her scratched arms and legs. Her ratty, filthy dress. Her face burned with embarrassment.

“Come on,” the girl said. “You need to get cleaned up.”

The girl’s name was Oboro, and she informed Azura that she had made the mistake of breaking into her parents’ shop – not just any, ordinary clothing shop, but possibly – no, _the_ greatest clothing shop in Hoshido. Their clothing, valued at twice what a competitor would make, was the cream of the crop. Exquisite. The cutting edge of fashion. Azura didn’t know what Oboro was on about, but she listened patiently and nodded along as Oboro led her through the village streets.

Oboro brought her at last to their destination – the bathhouse, situated along the river on the east side of the village.

“Come on,” Oboro gestured to the entrance. “It’s closed, but no one will mind if we go quick.”

Azura frowned. “Aren’t your parents worried about you?”

Oboro shook her head and puffed her chest out with pride. “They sent me out on a delivery to bring yukatas to the mayor for her family. The festival is next week, after all.” She seemed very proud of the responsibility. “But anyway, they aren’t expecting me back until later tonight, since usually the mayor makes me stay and have dinner with her. Go on, in you go.” Oboro shooed her into the bath. Azura did as instructed, tracking dirty footprints across the slick stone.

Oboro helped Azura clean up, diligently scrubbing away the weeks of grime and muck from her skin before helping to untangle knots in her hair. Some were lost causes, and in those cases Oboro took a short knife to her hair and cut the clumps out, discarding them. With some effort, she turned the mop into something at least…somewhat stylish. Azura looked into the mirror, surprised at the girl looking back at her.

Azura wasn’t shy about being naked in front of others – gods knew that trepidation had been beaten out of her early. She wasn’t even that conscious of her litany of scars, though she knew she probably more resembled a war veteran than a fourteen-year-old girl. But something about Oboro’s gaze made her uncomfortable.

She blushed deeply and coughed. “Um…”

“Oh, s-s-sorry!” Oboro stammered. “It’s just…you’re very beautiful.”

Azura’s blush deepened.

Oboro helped her clean up and gave her a robe to wear, opting to discard the shredded rags that passed for Azura’s clothes before. The two made the trek back to Oboro’s home in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Azura looked from the starry sky to her companion – this kind and mysterious young girl, who took her hand and led her through the village by lantern-light. Why was she helping her? Were all of the people of Hoshido so kind, once you left the crowded and callous bustle of the city?

“Can you climb?” Oboro asked.

The question caught Azura off-guard.

“Well? Can you?”

Azura nodded.

“Good. My room is that one, there,” Oboro pointed to a window. “I’m going to go up. I’ll give you a signal, and you can climb up, okay?”

Another nod.

Azura, warm and damp, swaddled in an oversized robe, stood barefoot in the street in front of Oboro’s house, waiting for the signal. She stares up at the starry night sky, at the beautiful, foggy mountains all around. She could see the top of the temple from here, its scalloped edges casting a dark silhouette against the dark blue. She could hear voices – a booming laugh and a small, hasty voice – that must be Oboro’s father and mother, respectively. Then, at last.

“Come up!” came a hiss. Oboro leaned out the window and waved her up. Azura climbed the drainpipe, planting her feet against the wall and hauling herself up. Her slender size and light weight were good for something, it seemed. Oboro reached down and grasped her hand to haul her into the room.

Oboro gave Azura a tray of food she had presumably gotten for herself and watched in fascination as the mysterious wanderer downed her dinner. The two were silent as Azura ate. After weeks on the road, it was all Azura could do not to shove her face into the bowl of noodles and scarf it down with wild abandon. But, remembering her manners, she ate with deliberate care. Though she did drink all the leftover broth.

“Why are you helping me?” Azura asked at last, setting her chopsticks down.

Oboro stared. “I’ve never met a Nohrian before,” she said simply. “Are all of you so beautiful?”

“I’m not…” Azura began to refute it but a knock came at the door.

“Oh, crap!” Oboro cried. “Uhh, quick! Here!” She shoved Azura onto the futon in the corner and tossed a blanket over her. Azura’s vision goes black.

“Oboro?” a voice emanated from somewhere. “Were you talking to someone?”

“N-no, Father! Just finishing up my dinner.”

 Beneath the blanket, Azura clasped a hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing. Through the thin fabric she can make out a silhouette in the doorway.

“Right. Well, be sure to get cleaned up and go to bed early tonight. General Hiataka’s men are going to be here tomorrow, and you know how much of an ordeal that will be.”

Oboro laughed and even beneath the blanket, Azura blushed. Her laugh was clear and joyful, and something in it made Azura long for home.

“They’re coming from the border, right?”

“Yes, they’re stopping by on their way to report back to Queen Mikoto.”

Oboro’s voice fills with wonder. “Really? Do you think they’re going to be in their armor?”

Oboro’s father laughed. “I should hope so. How else would they be able to fight?”

Azura dozed, listening to their conversation fade out as the two walk down the hall away from Oboro’s room. She remained still but allows herself to relax as the room turns silent. It’s so cozy and warm, and her belly is full of delicious, home-cooked food, and for the first time in far, far, too long, she feels safe. The blanket draped over her is like a shield, a symbol of the peace and kindness the Hoshidans were so often said to embody. She was half-asleep when Oboro snatched the blanket from her, plunging her back into the cool evening air.

“Hey! Are you asleep?” Oboro hissed.

Azura sat up blearily and rubbed her eyes. Oboro’s door was shut, now, and the room was dark and empty. The girl herself knelt over Azura, her eyes wide and curious.

“Okay, as much as I want to stay up and talk, I really do need to be getting to sleep,” Oboro said quietly. “General Haitaka’s men always make us clean _all_ their uniforms while they sit in the bathhouse and drink sake, and that’ll be my whole day tomorrow. You…um…” she looked over Azura’s frail, robe-clad form. “You can sleep here, tonight. If you want, I mean.”

Despite herself, Azura tried and failed to choke back tears. “N-no, I don’t…”

“Oh, come on,” Oboro touched her shoulder. “Don’t start crying. I’m a sympathetic crier, you’ll make me start.”

“No,” Azura sniffled, wiping her nose. “It’s fine, I can find somewhere to sleep…”

“Yeah, and that somewhere is here,” Oboro pointed. “Come on.”

Azura stared at her, drinking the moment in. Who was this girl, and why was she being so kind? It couldn’t have just been curiosity about a Nohrian (and gods was she going to be disappointed when she found out the truth). It had to be something more. Maybe it was some innate part of being a villager – some internal desire for rustic hospitality. Azura stared into her violet eyes.

“Okay,” she whispered at last. “But I can sleep on the floor.”

“No, no, nonsense!” Oboro hissed. “What kind of host would I be if I made you sleep on the floor?”

Azura let out a laugh and wipes her eyes. “Well, what kind of guest would I be if I took your bed? It’s your room, and you’ve already been so kind to me…”

“Then what’s one more kindness?”

Azura frowned. An impasse, it seemed.

Oboro sighed. “Okay, fine. We can share, okay? We both fit, and we’re both girls, so it’s okay.”

Azura blushed deeply, grateful that the darkness of the room likely obscured her face. “I…”

Oboro crossed her arms and sat on the futon. “Right. I’m going to sleep. Move if you want, or don’t.” she laid down next to Azura and tugged the blanket up to her shoulders.

Azura sat in the darkness of the bedroom, taking up half the bed-space, looking to the girl curling up at her side. She sat, motionless, unwilling to shift lest she indicate a direction of movement.

“Ugh,” Oboro mutters into her pillow. “Are all you Nohrians so proud?” she reached up and snagged Azura’s arm to yank her down. “Just go to sleep!”

Azura rolled over, pressing her back into Oboro’s, hoping that sleeping back-to-back would at least be less…uncomfortable. She exhaled slowly, trying to stop tears from welling up in her eyes again. She really needed to stop crying so easily, she decided. But she felt safe, and she felt warm, and she could feel the gentle rise and fall of Oboro sleeping at her side, and finally, after weeks of uncomfortable sleep in makeshift hideaways, and after years of an anxious, fearful sleep in a bedroom that was not her own, Azura lets herself drift off into a deep slumber.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Azura woke during the night a few times, harshly ripped from sleep by an urgent cry in her brain telling her wake! Run! Not safe! She gasped and pawed at her face, trying to peel the sweat-sticky bangs from her eyes. Her hair was a mess, a volume of soft blue to rival the blanket Oboro had hogged and wrapped around herself.

It took Azura a moment to orient herself – to remember where she was, what she was doing here, and why she was sharing a bed with someone else. She remembered and flopped back down onto her back, hoping she doesn’t wake Oboro but not really caring.

Oboro stirred and mumbled something incoherent in response. Azura steadied her breathing and reached into her robe to clasp her hands around her gold pendant. Her anchor, her only link home. The soft, smooth metal soothed her. It felt cool and familiar. Her chest heaved and she felt panic sinking into her chest. She couldn’t stay here.

It was a border town. Hatred for Nohrians would run deep and strong here. She _wasn’t_ Nohrian, but that wasn’t the point. She couldn’t stay here. She would get Oboro in trouble, too – and she didn’t deserve that. She, who had been so kind, who had taken Azura in and helped her bathe, who fed and clothed her. She’d be run out of town by an angry mob if word got out she was helping a Nohrian. It could spell disaster for her parents’ business if they were accused of sheltering an enemy. Azura slipped from beneath the covers and crossed to the window.

The sky was still dark, but the horizon glowed with a faint orange. The sun would rise soon. She looked back to Oboro’s sleeping form, cozy and curled up in bed, and Azura’s heart ached. She could do it. She could slip back into bed, back into the warmth and safety, damn the consequences.

She clasped her pendant and climbed out the window.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to her sleeping host, and then she vanished.

Oboro stirred. “Mm…A…zu…ra…” she mumbled.

For a brief moment the following morning, Oboro suspected it had all been a dream. That is, until she was roused by a harsh shout from downstairs.

“Oboro! Get down here!”

She hopped out the door and down the stairs, tying her clothes on as she went. She checked her appearance in the shop window before stepping inside. She grimaced. It was no dream after all, it seemed.

The shop was a mess. Muddy footprints tracked across the floor. Racks were upended, clothing was scattered across the floor. One window hung ajar, lilting slightly in the morning breeze. _Azura_ … she thought. Had Azura done this before Oboro found her? Did it happen after she left? She knelt on the rice-straw floor and picked up a scrap of bloodstained white fabric.

Her father snatched the fabric from her hands. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know!” Oboro said. It was the truth, too. She had no way of knowing it was Azura’s foot-bandage.

“It’s…beautiful,” her father breathed, fingering the fabric lightly. “Feels like silk, but lighter and more sheer…” He looked around the shop. “We don’t even carry anything like this.” His face darkened and Oboro knew what was coming.

As a rule, Oboro’s father was a very religious man. He visited the temple constantly and would often consult with the priests on all sorts of matters, from trade deals with vendors to store renovation. He had garnered a bit of a reputation for it in town, and it wasn’t an uncommon sight to see him hauling a ream of cloth to the temple to get it blessed. He would often tack on a charge, claiming blessed garments provided protection against evil spirits.

It was less than an hour later that Oboro sat cross-legged at the front desk, watching two priests poring over the shop.

“General Haitaka’s men are going to be here at noon,” Oboro’s mother said to her husband. Moriko was a slight woman, her eyes piercing and her face prone to scowls. She was kind, despite her (as her husband coined) “tiny fury”, but she suffered little patience for her husband’s superstition. “Kurou, we need to make preparations. These priests can’t be here when they arrive.”

“I know, I know,” Kurou assured her. He folded his arms over his chest. He was tall and muscular, with a frame that would have shocked anyone who learned his profession first. He had the build of a woodsman, not a tailor. His hair was the same color as Oboro’s. “Ten more minutes.”

Oboro watched the priests work. They had taken down notes, scrawling down the size of the footprints, quick sketches, and information about the fabric. They had taken that, too, and were now poring over the shop, providing blessings and wards against hexes. Or spirits. Oboro wasn’t sure which.

“Father,” she spoke up at last. “Would you like me to start clearing out the back for General Haitaka’s men?”

Kurou nodded and Oboro set to work clearing space. As she worked, she tried to suppress giggles as she caught snatches of the priests’ conversations. There were murmurs of spirits. And for some reason, at no point did Oboro’s father suspect a simple break-in.

By evening, the town was swirling with rumors. Oboro kept her head down for most of the day, busying herself with cleaning and repairs, and so she was shocked to find the town abuzz with talk of a haunted spirit. The signs all pointed to a youkai, said the townsfolk.

Muddy footprints and the bloody, beautiful fabric in the clothing shop. More footprints in the bathhouse, and clumps of dirty hair clogging the drains. Oboro blushed a little at that one. She had been rather careless. Then, the crown jewel of conspiracy theorists – a filthy, tattered dress found washed ashore along the river. It was of marvelous, impeccable quality. A shifting, sheer fabric that caught the light and sparkled. It was opaque and trimmed with gold. And above all, it was stained with blood and cut to ribbons.

In the dark, Oboro has scarcely noticed Azura’s state. The mud and blood caked together on her skin into a murky brown, but in the daylight it was more than obvious that she had been nursing some rather severe wounds.

Why run, then? Oboro couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

In celebration of their completed large order, Oboro’s parents closed up the shop early and the three went into town for dinner.

Oboro listened to the whispers around them as they walked.

“I saw her! I saw the spirit!”

“Don’t be absurd, there is no spirit!”

“No, I did! It was a girl clad in all white, and she sang to herself as she walked!”

“What was she singing, then?”

“I don’t know! It was in some language I couldn’t understand…”

“Yeesh, that gives me the shivers. Do you think it was really a ghost?”

Oboro let the voices fade away into the crowds of milling townsfolk, but her thoughts remained on the ghost. Just, not in the same way everyone else’s did. Why did she leave? Where was she now? Was she safe? If the whole town was on the lookout for a ghost, a Nohrian outsider was surely going to draw attention.

They were walking home from dinner when Oboro spotted her.


	5. Chapter 5

Azura was curled up against the side of a building in an alleyway, an oversized kimono wrapped around her. She had tied her hair up into a thick braid and tucked it away, and then she topped her outfit off with a hat. How she was sitting was a perfect disguise – she could only be spotted from one direction, and her clothes and accessories made it nearly impossible to see her skin or hair. In fact, the only reason Oboro noticed her at all was that she recognized the kimono pattern. Oboro stared into the alleyway.

“Are you listening to me, Oboro?” her mother asked.

“Yeah…” Oboro’s voice trailed. “Hold on, uh…I’ll meet you guys at home, okay?”

“Hm? What’s this?” her father asked.

“Uhh…I saw a friend!” Oboro called, darting off into the crowd. “Be back later! Love you!”

She wove through the crowd and ducked into the alleyway. “Azura,” she said, crouching.

Azura tipped back her hat and looked up. “Hm…?” she blinked blearily. She must have been asleep.

“What are you doing here?” Oboro asked. “Half the damn town is looking for you!”

“Hm?” Azura sat up suddenly. “What? What do you mean?” Sirens blare in her mind. The royal family is here. Word got out that she left. Anything.

“Listen,” Oboro sat against the wall next to her. “They…they think you’re a ghost!”

“What? I’m not a ghost.”

“No, _I_ know that!” Oboro laughed. “They found your dress in the river, and you left footprints all over the town!”

Azura suppressed a giggle. “And they think I’m a ghost because of that?”

“Well, my dad certainly didn’t help,” Oboro admitted. “He’s into all that spiritual junk, so when he found out you trashed the shop, his mind leapt to ‘spirit’.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Azura blushed. “I…you just got me the robe, and I needed to get day-wear.”

Oboro frowned. “I can see you just helped yourself.”

“Sorry.”

“Where are you staying?”

Azura shrugged. In truth, she had planned to leave the following day. She managed to sneak some food from a market stall, but staying in one place for too long made her nervous. She’d be caught, and that would be a nightmare. She told Oboro as much.

“What? You’re just leaving?!”

“It’s the best option.”

“No,” Oboro stood up over her. “No, you’re staying with me. Come on.”

“I can’t do that to you!” Azura protested. “What if they find me? What if they find out the thief isn’t a ghost, but a Nohrian girl? They’ll run you out of town if they find out you’re sheltering me!”

“Well, I don’t care,” Oboro said defiantly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. Come on.”

Azura allowed her to pull her to her feet but remained still. “No, Oboro. I can’t stay with you.”

“Gods, I bet all you Nohrians _are_ this proud, huh? You’d rather starve to death on the streets than impose?”

“You’re one to talk. You Hoshidans are-“Azura stopped herself, noticing a glare shot her way from a passing villager.

“Azura…” Oboro touched her hand. “Okay, fine. We’ll keep you a secret, then. You can sneak through the window at night, just to have someplace to sleep, okay? I can get you food and stuff, and…” she ran out of steam. “How’s that sound?”

Azura shook her head but followed anyway. The sun was nearly done setting by the time they reach the clothing shop, lighting up the town with a glow of twilit purple.

They follow a system: Oboro goes up first, makes sure the coast is clear, then motions for Azura to climb up. She does so only after checking to make sure no one else is out and looking their way. She slips through the window and, begrudgingly, into Oboro’s bed.

 

They develop a routine, of sorts. Azura wakes before dawn and slips out the window, venturing out into the town and surrounding countryside to try and maintain a low profile. She returns at sunset every night like clockwork.

Rumors spread further into town, tendrils of suspicion and conspiracy snaking through the alleyways and through open windows at night. A spirit walks among them – there are no more appearances of the white-clad girl, but shops open in the morning to find inventory gone and footprints tracked across the floor.

There are rumors of a nymph in the mountains – a blue-haired water spirit that can be caught wandering between the trees or bathing in the cool mountain springs, a song in some ancient, unknown language on her lips.

The rumors make Azura giggle and make Oboro laugh uproariously. On her days off, Azura takes her to her favorite spots along the river and in the mountains. The two sit along the river and fish, sometimes, and Azura teaches Oboro to whistle with river reeds. Oboro teaches Azura to style her hair more neatly and brings her a small sewing kit and teaches her how to mend minor tears in her clothes. With Oboro chaperoning, they visit the bathhouse on occasion to get Azura a “real bath”.

At night, they lay together on Oboro’s futon, laughing and talking into the night, caressed by the summer breeze drifting through the open window.

Azura dislikes people, as a rule. She’s been treated poorly for most of her life, and people make her feel nervous. She’s at peace when she’s alone, in the quiet loneliness of the mountains or sitting along the river, her only companions the reeds and the wind. But, for some reason, Oboro doesn’t make her uncomfortable. Where others make Azura twitchy and paranoid, Oboro calms her nerves.

Oboro asks her about her homeland, about her family, but doesn’t pry when Azura is scant with her replies. She can read people remarkably well, and soon learns all of Azura’s little tics that indicate discomfort or overstimulation.

One night, Oboro slips her hand into Azura’s and squeezes tightly. It’s meant to be a gesture of comfort – Azura had shared some sad tidbit of her past, and Oboro wanted to offer comfort. But Azura responded in kind, twining her fingers around Oboro’s and squeezing back. For two people who shared a bed every night, the gesture seemed strange and intimate. Oboro idly traces her fingers along Azura’s hand as they talk, and rather than back-to-back, they sleep face-to-face, hands clasped tightly together.

Life is quiet, comfortable, and safe. Even whispers of spirits in the woods and talk of war on the horizon does little to dispel Azura’s mood. For the first time since the loss of her mother, she feels at ease.


	6. Chapter 6

“Oboro, you-“ a shout roused Oboro to wakefulness. The shout is quickly cut off.

Oboro rolled over, careful not to squish Azura, whose arms were wrapped around her. “Mmhn?” she asked blearily, looking at the door.

Her heart practically stops. Her father stood in the doorway, a look of sheer shock plastered on his face.

“Mm?” Azura mumbled, rubbing her eye with one hand and pushing herself up with the other. She brushes her tangled blue hair out of her face. She opens her eyes and nearly faints.

It had been a good run, the two decided silently and independently. But, death had to come for them some day, and it seemed like that day had at last come. Azura expected the worst – she’d be jailed at best, and sent back to Shirasagi for punishment from the queen at worst. Oboro feared for her friend’s safety, above all, and scrambled to her feet to protect Azura if her father’s wrath was physical.

“What’s going on in here?”

“F-father, I…I can explain!” Oboro stammered, knowing that there was no real excuse she could use. So, she opted for the truth.

She explained that Azura had come into town hungry, scared, and wounded. She explained that (and she knew she was laying it on pretty thick here) her wonderful parents had taught her to value kindness and hospitality. So rather than impose on her busy parents, she took it upon herself to take care of their guest. She finished her story with a sheepish, guilty smile.

Azura sat up and did her best to look both somewhat pitiful and apologetic. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said softly. “I never meant to impose.” She bowed deeply and prostrated herself at his feet. Throwing herself on his mercy seemed better than leaping out the window, at any rate.

“Moriko!” Oboro’s father called to his wife. “Come here for a moment.”

Oboro winced. Her father was kind but reasonable. But when her mother was in a huff, nothing could quell her rage.

It was actually her mother who suggests it first. “Make her work in the shop. She’s got a wonderful figure and we could use a crier.”

 

Azura wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or horrified. She’d never really held down a job – she was only fifteen, after all. And now she found herself saddled with a mountain of work. Perhaps as punishment for Oboro’s indiscretion, or punishment for Azura’s own wrongdoings, Oboro’s parents piled as much work as they could onto the two girls.

Azura didn’t know much about sewing, so she spent her time running deliveries, picking up supplies, and cleaning the shop, and running to the river to fetch water for laundry. On weekends and busy days, Oboro’s parents stuck her in some fancy new kimono and sent her out to pass out rice-paper fliers advertising sales and specials. When traveling merchants stopped into town, or companies of soldiers, Azura was sent out to advertise their services. She was young, and beautiful, and in the words of Oboro’s somewhat-insensitive mother, “her skin tone compliments some of the fabric just wonderfully”.

Oboro was more often than not stuck in the shop, working on repairs and custom jobs. Gone were their days of carefree traveling in the countryside, and instead their noses were to the grindstone daily.

If there was any saving grace in the punishment, it’s that Azura was allowed to stay. In fact, she was even given her own futon, though she and Oboro pushed their beds together to make one big one. Oboro’s parents insisted that Azura was a houseguest. She was only to stay until arrangements could be made.

But, in the meantime, she stayed. The punishment-work eventually petered out into regular amounts of work, and Azura settled into a new life in the town – not as a ghost, not as a shadow, but as herself.

Not that the rumors disappeared. They merely shifted, changing shape to now tell of a ghost that sat out on rooftops at night, singing its haunting melodies to the sky.

And the townspeople learned to tolerate Azura. She was met with suspicion by some, particularly the older and less worldly crowd. Even to those who were kind to her, she wasn’t friendly – it wasn’t in her nature. She was known above all else for being beautiful, for being professional, and for being quiet. But no one dared hurt her, even those that whispered insults behind her back. Even those that hissed names and hurled jeers at her.

Oboro’s parents treated her kindly enough, but unlike Oboro, both were…’old-fashioned’ might be the polite way to phrase it. Moriko would make insensitive remarks, blaming Azura and “her people” for attacks along the border, and Kurou’s tolerance for outsiders shrank as the conflict between Nohr and Hoshido escalated. Travelers from all over visited their shop, so news came quickly and news came hard.

The war grew worse. It wasn’t _really_ a war, not yet. But this was a border town, and so more soldiers funneled through, passing by on their way to the border. On their way to bolster outposts, to provide aid to Mokushu. Soldiers came through wielding heavy clubs and sharp swords and long, slender naginatas. They would return in fewer numbers, sometimes stained with blood, sometimes sporting rips and gashes in their beautiful uniforms.

And every uniform that needed repairing passed through Azura’s hands. She touched each one, each bloodied and shredded cuirass, every hood and scarf and tunic and trousers. On bad days she would spend most of her time at the river, washing blood into the current.

The town’s whispering returned. Not ghosts in the trees, not spirits, but bandits. Faceless. Nohrian spies, thieves.

But, as with all wars, life went on.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you ready yet, Azura?”

“Can you help me with my hair?” Azura motioned to Oboro, trying to get her attention while both hands were busy propping up a thick cord of blue hair. “I can’t get the hair clip in.”

“Yeah, hold on…” Oboro fussed with Azura’s hair and helped untangle pleats. “Oh, Azura, it’s a mess! Hold on, let me do it again.”

“Aren’t we going to be late?”

“It’s okay, my parents can run the booth until we get there.”

Azura nodded and let Oboro untangle and re-braid her hair, finally letting the thick band of hair drape over her shoulders. Oboro helped set a shimmering white veil over her hair that complimented her soft blue yukata. A flower pattern was woven into it – forget-me-nots that matched Azura’s hair. A gold trim brought the outfit together and as they stepped outside, Azura sparkled like a jewel in the early-evening sun.

The whole town was abuzz with activity, most villagers heading towards the temple to help with setup for the festival. It had been a good year, even with the pressure of the war, and the people were excited. The harvest festival was set to last all week, and Oboro’s parents _insisted_ that it was the most important week of the year. Everyone would be wearing fancy clothes, and everyone would be spilling food on their clothes or snagging them and ripping them, so a quick-repair/accessory combo booth was what they settled on. Getting in customers’ good graces was the goal, though.

“Ooh, looks like Ryoichi is setting up his takoyaki booth early,” Oboro leered as they passed. “We could stop early and snag one…”

“Maybe,” Azura laughed. “We should at least check in with your parents before gallivanting off to get snacks.”

“Okay, okay, hold on though.” Oboro darted off, slipping into a line for a both Azura couldn’t quite identify. She returned with two pressed fish-shaped cakes. She handed one to Azura. “Okay, you _gotta_ try this. This is your first festival here, right? I’m sure you’ve had taiyaki, but you haven’t had _this_ taiyaki!”

Azura sunk her teeth in and her eyes lit up. The cake shell was rich and fluffy, and the inside was filled with sweet red bean paste. “Oh!” she said, her mouth full. She scarfed the whole thing down, coughing as she tried to cram it into her mouth. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing!”

“Told you!” Oboro laughed. “Are you in a hurry, or something?”

Azura brushed crumbs from her mouth. “I don’t want your mother to get on my case for eating instead of working,” she explained.

“Oh, come on. It’s a festival! You can let your hair down a little!”

Azura smiled and sighed quietly. Oboro was kind, but one of her flaws was how she always saw the best in everyone. She couldn’t even recognize her own parents’ feelings towards Azura. “It’s alright.”

They walked through the festival grounds together, weaving past booths stocked with crackling roast meats, fresh-baked pastries, and all sorts of games and diversions. Azura had been to festivals, of course, but she spent most of them sitting in the shadows, trying to remain unseen. This was her first where she felt comfortable enough to venture out into the open, to laugh and play and eat with all the others.

“About time you two showed up!” Oboro’s father called, waving them over to their booth. “Come, there was an accident at one of the booths and now we need to get oyster sauce out of these yukatas. Azura, go help Moriko fetch water.”

“Yessir,” Azura bowed and headed off towards the river, bucket in tow.

 The evening passed quickly, work and play mingling together into a swirl of lights and colors and paper lanterns and fried foods. At one point, Azura was even granted the privilege of running the booth herself – the others were busy with tasks, leaving Azura to count money and hand out receipts and accessories and tickets and manage the flow of customers. At one point, without her knowledge, Oboro’s mother snaps a flower band onto Azura’s head that quickly becomes the hot item of the night. Though it did startle Azura the first time someone said “I love your headband!”

And on off times, Azura and Oboro walked the festival grounds, pacing between booths, sharing snacks, and enjoying the warm autumn night.

They made their way to the temple shrine and each made their silent prayers, and on the walk down the steps, Oboro slipped her hand into Azura’s.

“Thank you,” she said softly, almost uncharacteristically so. Her exuberance and excitement had melted away, drained as the evening bled into night and exhaustion set in.

“Thank you?” Azura asked back, surprised. “For what?”

“For…for being here with me,” Oboro sat on the stone steps and tugged Azura down next to her. “I…” she creased her brow, thinking. “I really like you a lot, Azura. This past year has just been…wonderful.”

Azura giggled and a small smile graces her lips. “Thank you, Oboro. I like you too.”

“N-no, I mean…” Oboro rests her face in her hands. “I…I…lo-“ before she can speak, a boom cut through the air with a flash of red light.

Fireworks crackled in the sky above and Azura stared up at them. The shimmering bursts reflected in her golden eyes, and Oboro melted in her yukata. She was glad her blush was obscured by the flashing lights and sparkling fires.

Azura ran her thumb over Oboro’s hand, her mind whirling like a pinwheel. Something in her heart felt light and excited, but she couldn’t place what. She looked to Oboro for the answer, only to find that Oboro was looking back at her, no less certain. Their eyes met – gold and violet, each sparkling with glowing light and the paper lanterns and the stars above. Oboro grasped the back of Azura’s head and pulled her into a kiss.

Fireworks exploded in Azura’s chest.

 

The festival wound down, as all must do eventually, and Azura and Oboro made their way back to their booth, hands tightly clasped. Oboro’s free hand held a bag of goodies they had scored, including freebies from booths already shutting up shop for the night. They chatted and laughed and picked their way through the thinning crowd.

Oboro slips her hand out of Azura’s grasp as she spies her parents. “Hey! What can we help with?”

Her father shrugs, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth. The entire stock of accessories had been picked clean, leaving nothing but empty racks and buckets of soapy water. “Oboro, can you help me carry these racks back? Azura, just stay here and hold down the fort, okay?”

Azura bows slightly. “Yessir.”

“Good girl,” he grins.

 

The next morning, he approached Azura while she was rearranging the sewing supplies at the back of the shop.

“Azura?”

“Hm?” she looked up. “Oh, hello, sir. Anything I can help you with?”

He sat on the table across from her, crossing his legs. He pored over her and she felt uncomfortably under his gaze. What was he looking at?

“Our daughter’s quite fond of you, it seems.”

“Is she?” Azura played dumb. It was almost physically difficult to stop a grin from creeping across her face.

“She is indeed.” He sighed. “I realize my wife can be a little…abrasive, about…” he fumbled, clearly trying to be delicate. “Your heritage,” he said at last.

“It’s fine, really,” Azura brushed it off.

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t make her apologize, but I can apologize for her. You’ve been nothing but a boon to us ever since you started working here.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

He cleared his throat, the heart-to-heart clearly making him uncomfortable. “Ah…at any rate, we’re going to be taking a business trip next week. And…we’d like you to come along.”

“Sir?” Azura sat up, surprised. Business trips weren’t uncommon, but she was usually left in charge of housekeeping while the shop was closed. This was a big step.

“You really proved your worth at the festival,” he continued. “and I would be honored if you could come along with us.”

“O-of course, sir.” Azura folded her hands in her lap. “If I may…where will we be going?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” he admitted. “We’ll be traveling to Nohr. My wife things having someone like you along would be beneficial.”

Azura’s heart lurched into her throat.

Nohr.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence in this chapter!

The wagon rumbled along the rickety mountain road slowly, the horses unwilling to push their speed past that of a brisk walk. Out the back, Azura watched the scenery pass – the mountains and forests melted into an orange blur, the autumnal trees like fire on the mountainside. Brown and golden leaves twirled from the canopy of trees above them, littering the path as they went.

The business trip was a momentous occasion – their clothing had become so well known that it was sought after abroad, not just in Hoshido. Izumite and Mokushujin merchants already purchased from them, but this marked the first time a Nohrian vendor was willing to meet and negotiate a contract. Their wagon train was just two long – one with the passengers – Kurou, Moriko, Oboro, and Azura sat across from each other on wooden benches, talking softly as the scenery rolled by. The wagon behind them carried a full stock of their wares – reams of beautiful fabric, piles of folded garments, crates of accessories. And, since they weren’t fools, each wagon came with two armed guards.

They made Azura nervous, reminding her too much of the soldiers she had known back in Shirasagi. But they were a necessary addition, she figured. She picked at her fingernails nervously. She was being brought along not just to aid with business, but because she was Nohrian.

But she _wasn’t_ Nohrian. It was a distinction everyone seemed either unwilling or incapable of making. She just hoped to the gods that she wouldn’t need to do anything…Nohrish.

Oboro put a hand on her knee and offered a slight smile of encouragement.

“It’s just bad luck, is all I’m sayin’,” one of the guards loudly remarked from the bench at the front of the wagon, oblivious to the ability of his passengers to hear. “Bringin’ a Nohrian along? Whose to say she isn’t a spy?”

“Of course she’s not a spy,” the driver responded. “She’s just a kid, you moron.”

“She could be a scout, though. You know as well as I do that the Nohrians aren’t above makin’ kids fight.”

Azura sighed and bowed her head. She was used to it. Oboro offers an apologetic, comforting hand-squeeze.

“I’m just sayin’,” the guard replied. “Best be on guard.”

“Good thing that’s your JOB!” Oboro snapped, smacking the tent fabric.

The two men up front muttered and quieted down.

“Please, dear,” Moriko chastised Oboro. “No need to make a fuss.”

“Did you hear what they were saying about her?” Oboro asked. “I mean, _you_ trust Azura, right?”

Moriko frowned.

“Mother,” Oboro said with disbelief.

“It’s wartime, Oboro. Best to only trust those you know.”

“Mother, she’s been living in our house! How can you say you don’t trust her?!”

“Enough,” her father’s booming voice cut through the argument. “Enough of this. Oboro, be silent.”

Oboro obliged, fuming.

Azura closed her eyes and leaned back against the fabric wagon cover.

 

The next afternoon, the rain begins. It drums on the wagon covers like tapping fingers, soaking through and dripping on the passengers within.

“The _moment_ we pass into Nohr,” lamented the driver. “You know, you people really are bad luck,” he said, motioning to Azura.

Oboro opened her mouth to speak and Azura put a hand on her leg. “Don’t,” she whispered. It just wasn’t worth it.

The road became a mire of mud and slippery stones as the wagons descended out of the mountains towards the Nohrian mainland. Even the sky here seemed darker and greyer, and the crackling of thunder seemed to be laced with malice. The dead trees curled inwards like creeping, slender fingers. Azura clutched her coat and held it tightly around herself.

 

The supply wagon was hit first. An arrow thunked into the side of it, muted by the rainstorm. No one reacted.

Azura sat up. Something felt wrong. Very wrong.

Another arrow sunk into the spokes of the supply wagon’s wheel. Azura looked at it curiously. Metal. Who would use a metal arrow?

Before she even finished her question, a crackled of lightning flashed out from the trees and struck the metal arrow, lighting it up with a flash of hot light. The metal bolt glowed orange and crackled with energy, splitting the wheel apart and causing the wagon to collapse into the mud, throwing the driver from his seat. Another bolt of lightning hit the first arrow and the side of the wagon was engulfed in flames.

_Magic_. Azura reacted automatically, throwing her arm over Oboro and yanking her to the floor of the wagon. A blast of magic hit their wagon next, rocking it violently and splashing fire across the wet cover. The rain proved a boon, stopping the fire from latching onto the cloth.

The wagon guards reacted first, pulling the vehicles to a halt and drawing their weapons.

“Stay here,” Oboro’s father commanded, leaping out of the back of the wagon and drawing his own weapon, a short metal blade.

“Father!” Oboro cried out.

Azura shushed her and held her down.

“Father,” Oboro muttered, squirming under Azura’s grip. “N-no, I have to h-help…father!” she cried out, trying to shove Azura off. “Let go of me! I have to help him!”

“You’ll die!” Azura hissed. “You’re not even armed!”

An arrow sliced through the canvas wagon-top and split it open, exposing them to the rainstorm outside. Azura reacted without thinking, leaping out of the wagon and taking Oboro with her. Her survival instinct kicked in and she scrambled through the mud, looking for a place to hide. The clash of steel on steel rang out, and mingled voices shout over the rain.

Harsh, Nohrian shouts. High, commanding Hoshidan shouts. Oboro’s father and mother shouting to each other over the rain. Magic crackled. Or was that just thunder?

Armored men swarmed out of the woods, descending on the wagon convoy like flies to rotting meat. The guards met them with skill and speed, their blades dancing in the rain. Azura and Oboro huddled in the mud, drenched with rain.

“I have to help!” Oboro shouted again, pushing Azura. “Let me go!”

“Oboro, stay HERE!” Azura cried. She knew a losing fight when she saw one. “Just stay here…please…”

Oboro shoved her roughly and sent her sprawling into the ground with a splash. “Get off me! Father!” she turned, crying out.

Her eyes met a corpse and she nearly fainted. One of the guards had been slain and lay in a pool of red mud, blood pouring from his shredded clothes. Oboro fought back a wave of nausea and stumbled forwards, scrabbling in the mud for the man’s sword. She snagged it but dropped it, the handle slick with rainwater and blood.

“Oboro, come back!” Azura shouted again, knowing her words fell on deaf ears.

Oboro tightened her grip on the sword and stumbled out into the storm towards the sound of clashing weapons.

“Idiot,” Azura muttered, pushing herself to her feet. She grabbed Oboro from behind and hauled her back to the wagons.

“Let…go! Of! Me!” Oboro roared, her face twisting into a scowl. “Let-“

A flash of lightning from the sky struck the second wagon and it splintered. Shards of charred wood splattered into the mud and Oboro and Azura collapsed, blown back by the force.

Through the fog and rain, Oboro could see her parents fighting alongside the remaining guards. She watched swords and axes flash, watched sprays of crimson erupt from the bandits’ bodies. “I…I have to…” she cried, tears and blood mingling on her face.

“You can’t do anything,” Azura pleaded. “We need to hide!”

“No, I-“ Oboro’s heart stopped.

A blade sliced through her father’s neck with shocking accuracy. He didn’t even react – he collapsed into the mud, in a heap of bloodied clothing and armor.

“F-father!” Oboro stumbled on her words, refusing to believe her eyes. “Father!” she took a step forward and slipped, landing face-first in the mud. “Fa…”

Azura knelt at her side. “Please, Oboro. You can’t do anything.”

Oboro wiped the filter of blood and mud from her eyes. Through her soaked bangs she could see a losing battle – the guards were being torn to shreds by bandits with jagged blades that hooked into their armor and pry pieces loose. Spears were thrust into exposed body parts and blood showered the ground.

Azura mustered her strength and hauled Oboro to her feet, limping as she carried her to the flaming wreckage of the wagon.

Azura reached a hand into her shirt and clasped her pendant. She closed her eyes. Water pooled around them in the air, rainwater catching in suspended pools, gathering in floating puddles. And Azura directed them, focusing the rainwater on the ruins of the smoldering wagon. She snuffed out the fire with a concentrated splash of rainwater and hauled Oboro’s dazed frame into the back of the burnt-out wagon.

She wrapped a second hand around her talisman and whispers. The water parted around them, gathering at the edges of the wagon, forming a shimmering aquatic shield. Azura could feel her strength draining in equal measure to her effort. She looked up – through the iridescent filter, she could see the bandits scattering, running off into the woods and leaving the road a mire of blood and corpses and ruined wagons.

Azura let out a breath and let her shield drop, splashing water back to the ground, no longer needed to provide them camouflage. She coughed and lurched, her mouth filling with copper. Beside her, Oboro laid motionless, dazed, disbelief plastered across her face.

“It’s okay, Oboro,” Azura wrapped her arms around her trembling frame. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This had to happen at some point.


	9. Chapter 9

Oboro stared at the muddy, bloodstained wreckage. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained a dark, murky grey. The air smelled of a sickening mix of blood and petrichor. Oboro stared, unwilling or unable to believe.

She found her parents first, their bodies discarded after being looted of valuables. Everything was gone – their rings, her mother’s earrings, her father’s necklace. Their clothes were disheveled and torn, clearly rifled through.

She clenched her hands into fists, her whole body trembling with rage.

“I’m sorry,” Azura whispered, stepping forward to stand at Oboro’s side.

Oboro clenched her teeth and refused to break eye contact with the corpses.

“I’m so sorry,” Azura tried to touch her arm.

Oboro snapped. “Sorry?!” she snarled, her face twisted into a sneer. “You’re SORRY?!”

“Oboro…” Azura said apologetically.

“You’re sorry?!” Oboro repeated. “This is all your fault!”

Azura’s breath catches. “W-what?”

“Why did you hold me back?” Oboro shouted.

“I…” Azura faltered, unaccustomed to dealing with rage, particularly from Oboro. “I…I didn’t want you to get hurt!”

“Hurt?! My parents are DEAD! I could have saved them! I could have-“ Oboro’s lungs caught up to her and she coughs out a sob. “I…I could have…”

“I’m sorry, Oboro…” Azura took a cautious step forward and held out her hand.

“Don’t you touch me!” Oboro smacked her hand back. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Oboro, it’s me!” Azura pleaded. “Please, just listen!”

“No!” Oboro growled. “I’ve had enough of you! They were right!”

Something crumbled in Azura’s chest.

“Th-they warned me, but I didn’t listen! Because I was stupid!” Oboro raged. “They all said you were horrible, and all Nohrians were scum, and you were no different! I…I defended you!”

Azura felt tears flooding into her eyes. “O-Oboro, I didn’t do this…”

“Don’t you lie to me! You’ve been lying to me since the day we met!”

The tears were unstoppable and Azura sobbed. “Oboro, I…”

“This is all your fault! All of this! You…you did this!” Oboro paced towards Azura’s crumpled frame. “I bet you even called them here, didn’t you? Isn’t it perfect, everyone dead except for you? So what happened, huh? Nohrians approach you at the festival? I bet you just couldn’t WAIT for a chance to come back to your homeland!”

“I’m not Nohrian!” Azura screamed, finally pushing herself up to her feet. “I’m not Nohrian!”

“Liar!” Oboro lashed a hand out and struck Azura’s cheek. “How can you stand there and lie to me?!”

“I’m…” Azura stumbled backwards and clutched her smarting cheek. “I’m not…”

“We…we never should have taken you in,” Oboro’s chest heaved. “I never should have helped you.”

“Please,” Azura begged. “Please don’t say that.”

“I hate you.”

Azura’s eyes filled with tears. Nausea swept over her and she fought back the urge to vomit. “Oboro…”

“I hate you!” Oboro screamed. “I HATE YOU! You and all your people! You’re despicable, inhuman scum!”

A familiar ache builds in Azura’s chest. The words sounded so familiar. They were words she hadn’t been called in years.

“I HATE YOU!” Oboro choked out another scream before gasping for breath. She and Azura stared at each other, each gasping and heaving, tears streaming down their faces.

“G…go away,” Oboro said defiantly. “Leave me alone.”

“What?” Azura asked, sniffling.

“I said leave me alone.” Oboro’s quiet voice almost seemed more frightening than her angry shouting. There was none of the passionate rage. It was silent, somber, smoldering. Pure, unadulterated hatred. “Leave me alone.” Her face twisted into a wicked scowl. “Go. And never come back.”

Azura shook her head and gestured to the dead forest. “This isn’t my home, Oboro. Hoshido is my home.”

Oboro bared her teeth. “Shut up. Shut your filthy fucking mouth.”

“I’ve lived in Hoshido most of my life,” Azura said, trying to stand her ground. “I’ve as much a right to return as you.”

“Shut your mouth,” Oboro snarled, kicking a snapped naginata from the mud. “Every word you say is a lie.”

“I’m…” Azura stammered. “I’m not lying. I…I love you, Obor-“

It was the wrong thing to say. Oboro launched into a rage, flinging herself at Azura and knocking her to the ground. She punched Azura, hard. And Azura felt herself lurch backwards in time, to harsh voices and cruel words and hard fists punishing her for who she was born as. Azura curls instinctively, her arms moving on their own to block the blows. Oboro gets in one more good hit before stopping.

“I’m going back,” she growls. “If you follow, I’ll kill you.”


	10. Chapter 10

Azura’s heart crumbles. She had trusted Oboro. She had opened up to her, and trusted her, and loved her and let her love in return. She had lived a life of isolation, guarding her heart the only way she knew how, and now it felt all the worse. It was like Oboro had ripped her heart from her chest. Her poisoned words were like knives, daggers that sank into Azura’s brain and reminded her _why_ she had wanted to leave. Why she didn’t make friends, why she didn’t _trust_. Because trust always ended with pain.

She vowed to never again make that mistake. She returned to Hoshido – its people were stupid and foolish and their locks were easier to pick. She didn’t return to Oboro’s village. She stayed on the fringes of society, breaking into shops and scavenging for food and living the live she had grown accustomed too. She never lingered in one place long, choosing to stay on her feet and travel light.

Rumors spread. The white-clad songstress spirit became something of a local legend, a beautiful nymph that bathed in mountain streams and raided your camp if you weren’t looking. A spirit who leaves naught but muddy footprints on shop floors.

Azura became a drifter, moving from town to town, foraging, scraping by, but surviving.

 

 

Oboro returned to her home but found herself unable to continue her parents’ work. The house felt empty and haunted, and the second futon in her room filled her with regret. She had tried to find Azura and apologize – she realized quickly that she had been harsh, but Azura was nowhere to be found. She tried to believe that Azura was innocent, but she couldn’t quite let go of that anger. Azura had vanished, gone back to Nohr, as far as Oboro knew. She disappeared, and in that absence, Oboro’s accusations were validated.

She lived in her parents’ shop for a time, until the money ran out. Unwilling to open up the shop again, she instead set out for the capital. The war effort was gearing up. It seemed that her parents weren’t the only Hoshidan convoy that got attacks. Recruiters came around to the villages, drawing enlistment pools for the Hoshidan Royal army. A soldier visited and Oboro left that day, bound for the capital. She had family there, and it seemed like the best option.

She arrived in Shirasagi with nothing but the clothes on her back and a naginata in her hands. Her remarkable performance as a soldier let her climb the ranks of spearfighters quickly, and her ferocity on the training field was unparalleled.

Between her fearsome skill and her connections to the Hoshidan royal family, she was a shoe-in for the retainer position for the young prince’s royal guard.


	11. Chapter 11

“Come on, Oboro! Please?”

“No, Hinata. If you want a haircut, you can go pay for one at the salon like everyone else.”

“Oh, but they never do it the way I like! Come on! I’ll buy you dinner.”

Oboro crossed her legs and set her naginata across them. “Listen, Hinata. If you think a _haircut_ is gonna give you an edge in the tournament, you’re probably not in the running anyway.”

Hinata scowled, brushing back his tangle of brown hair. “Okay, okay, fine. Can you at least help me put it up?”

Oboro sighed and gestured to him. “Okay, fine. Sit.” As she helped wrap a hairtie around his high ponytail, she hummed.

“What’s that song?” he asked.

Oboro frowned. She couldn’t remember. “I’m…I’m not sure, actually. It’s been stuck in my head of late, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Sounds pretty.”

“Mmhm.” Oboro got to her feet and planted her naginata pole in the dirt. “Okay. Lord Takumi’s evaluations start tomorrow at eight. Did you still want to get up and go for a run before then?”

Hinata shrugged and ran his hands through his brand-new ponytail. “I dunno, isn’t that a little excessive?”

Oboro smiled. “Alright, I guess you _don’t_ want to show off how dedicated you are to Lord Takumi, then.”

Hinata pouted. “How does going for a run help with that again?”

Oboro laughed and the two crossed the training field. Shirasagi was beautiful this time of year, and the cherry trees blossomed into swirls of pink against the clear blue sky. High above, the towers of the castle loomed over them like a watchful lighthouse.

“Come on, you dork. Let’s get dinner. Remember, you owe me.”

“What? No! I said I’d buy you dinner-“

“If I styled your hair! Which I technically did.”

Hinata scowled. The two walked through the castle town streets, passing from the training fields into the cobblestone alleyways destined for the market. Oboro’s boots tapped against the stone and she hummed, trying to place the melody. It was something that felt old and sad. She pursed her lips. What song could it be?

“You hear Sakura’s retainers have been selected already?” Hinata asked, conversationally.

“Shut it, Hinata. I’m trying to remember something.” She hummed another bar of the melody as they walked. And then, for a split second, she caught a flash of something in the crowd.

Gold eyes locked to hers, then vanished.

She frowned.

“Hm? You looking for someone?” Hinata asked, jabbing her.

“Y-yeah,” she said uncertainly. “Hey, you’re taller than me. See anyone unusual?”

He scanned the crowd. “Uh, nope. Can’t say I do.”

“Hm…nevermind, then.”

She saw something else, just before they ducked through the curtains into a restaurant. A flash of blue hair. She frowned.

 

Oboro was a shoe-in for the retainer position. She was ecstatic, thrilled to be part of Lord Takumi’s _personal guard_. She was somewhat less thrilled to learn who her partner would be.

“I can’t believe it!” Hinata grinned. “Look at us, partners in crime. Top of the class, numbers one and two!”

“Oh, shut it,” Oboro smacked his arm. “We both know you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

“That’s just weapon advantage,” he smirked.

Oboro’s promotion came with a relocation of her quarters from the soldier’s barracks to the castle itself. It’s a far cry from her cramped childhood home or the sardine-can soldier spaces. She could actually stretch out! And the closet had more than enough space for all the clothes she could want. And she had a view! A window that looked out on the royal gardens, and then beyond the castle wall to the woods, and the river, and the little dock, and…

She paused and leaned out the window.

 

Azura dipped her toes into the river, letting the cold water run over her bare feet. She didn’t like coming this close to the castle, usually, but this was the best place for bathing. It was far enough from the town that she wouldn’t be interrupted, but no so far that she had to worry about travelers, or…wolves. She reached down a hand and swirled up a column of water around her arm. She smiled, watching the droplets dance and refract the glowing evening sun. Mottled orange and yellow light streaked across her arm. In the past few years, she had gotten a stronger handle on her pendant. What was once a heavy heirloom that reminded her of nothing but pain was now a tool – a shield, a weapon, or, in these cases, a toy.

She let the water splash back down to the river and laughed. She froze the splashed droplets, a crown of frozen water that sparkled like liquid gold.

“Neat trick.”

A voice startled her and the water splashed into the river. She turned, immediately on the defensive, ready to fight or flee. Her hand dropped to the knife in her calf-sheath.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Azura turned. “O…Oboro.”

“Hey.”

Oboro looked sad, her bright smile replaced with a somber frown. She sat next to Azura, crossing her legs and dipping a hand into the river. “How do you do it?”

“Hm?” Azura frowned, unsure how to react.

“The water thing. It’s magic, right?”

Azura nodded. “My mother gave me this pendant.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the river run gold in the sunset. The soft spring breeze ruffled their hair, and neither were willing to break the silence.

“I’m sorry.” Azura spoke first. “I…I shouldn’t have left you. I…” she swirled her hand in the water. “I was so angry, Oboro. You…you really hurt me. I trusted you, and…to hear you say those things to me…”

“No, don’t apologize. It was my fault.”

“I…I can’t blame you, though. I did lie to you. And I hurt you, and…” Azura took a deep breath. “I loved you, Oboro. And what you said just shattered my heart. I shouldn’t have left you, but…but I did. And I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to be left alone after something like that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Oboro replied. “I…I was just looking for someone to blame. You were there, and…and I just needed something…some _where_ to direct my anger. I shouldn’t have…” She bows her head. “I’m sorry, Azura. I should never have said those things to you.”

They sat in silence again, neither sure of what more to say.

Oboro cracked a half-smile. “You know, I hear rumors of a ghost walking around the rooftops around here.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm. Something about a ghostly songstress. I had her song stuck in my head all week, and I couldn’t place why. Must be subconscious.”

Azura gave a small smile. “Perhaps.”

The sun filters through the trees and the wind calms. The water ripples in swirls and eddies. A fish jumps. They sit in silence.

“Congratulations on your promotion, by the way,” Azura said. She looked up, looking Oboro in the eyes. “I know your parents are proud.”

Oboro nodded.

The silence settled on them again.

“I think you should stay,” Oboro said at last, punctuating her statement with an exhale. She hoped this one would stick – something had to, right? After all this time, to be unable to even hold a conversation…they couldn’t have fallen so far. Maybe this would work. “I…I think you should stay.”

Azura shook her head and drew her knees up to her chest. “No, I…I can’t.”

“Why not? I’m sure we can find a room for you in the castle.”

Azura laid her head on her knees and looked at Oboro curiously. “How do you think they’ll treat me here? Especially after I ran away.”

“Oh, yeah!” Oboro snapped to attention. “About that; you never told me you were a princess! What gives?!”

Azura chuckled. “So you figured it out, did you?”

“Lady Hinoka told me about you when she was showing me around the castle grounds.”

“How’s she doing? Still living in the barracks?”

Oboro shook her head. “Nah, she’s moved into the castle to be closer to her mother, I think.”

Azura’s voice drops. “You know how your lord would treat me if I tried to return.”

“Lord Takumi?” Oboro shakes her head. “I mean, I know he’s got it in for Nohrians, but…” she paused. “But you aren’t a Nohrian, right?” She smiled mischievously.

“Oboro, you know that doesn’t matter. He’ll hate me.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Yes, I’m sure the vouching of a backcountry seamstress is worth a lot around these parts.”

Oboro took offense. “I’ll have you know we were well-known to the royal family even before I came here! My mother even made the Queen’s wedding dress.”

Azura was genuinely surprised, but she shook her head. “It’s just…thank you for your offer, Oboro. But I’m better off on my own.”  

Oboro leaned her head against Azura’s shoulder and made an irritated moan. “Gods, haven’t the past years done _anything_ for your pride? You’re still stubborn as all hell. Come on, I can re-introduce you to everyone.”

Azura leaned her head against Oboro’s and closed her eyes.

“Do a magic trick with your little talisman or something. Impress them.”

Azura giggled softly. “I don’t think the royal family will be happy adopting a spellcasting ghost.”

“Well, they can shove it. Anyone who has a problem with you had a problem with me!”

“Even Lord Takumi?”

Oboro faltered and blushed, and Azura laughed and playfully pushed her. “Oh? Does someone have a crush on Lord Takumi?”

“N-no! Of course not!” Oboro stammered. “I just…he’s…he’s cool, and…” She steeled herself and leaned back towards Azura to rest a hand on her shoulder. “You know my heart already belongs to someone, right?”

Azura felt herself choking up. “N-no,” she said softly. “You c-can’t…”

Oboro shifted her hand to the back of Azura’s head and pulled her into a soft kiss. Surprised, Azura shifted backwards and plunged off the dock into the river. “Oh my gosh!” Oboro cried. “Oh, Azura! Are you okay?!”

Azura surfaced, her hair slicked back and clinging to her hair. She laughed and reached out. “Come on, fair’s fair!”

“No, I’m not-“ Oboro stammered out only half of her protest before a tendril of water slapped her back and sent her tumbling into the river. Azura darted forward in the water and caught her, wrapping her arms around the now-soaked soldier. Her orange clothes drifted in the sparkling gold water like fire in the deep. Azura tread water and held her close, leaning in for another gentle kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right okay so this was planned to be six short, <1000 word chapters. Hence why length wildly varied. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are appreciated, as always, and feel free to stop by lucisevofficial.tumblr.com to shout at me (or commission me!)
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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